


New Years?

by guardianangela



Series: Kamukoma Time [1]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Birthday Party, Fluff, Implied emotional/psychological abuse, Light Angst, M/M, New Years, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Playing in the Snow, Remnants of Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Self-Hatred, Snow Day, gratuitous eyefucking, implied junkomaeda - Freeform, mentioned - Freeform, sorta - Freeform, yes im writing a new years fic in the middle of summer what ABOUT it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 01:10:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20331565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guardianangela/pseuds/guardianangela
Summary: Nagito's caught staring.But he can't help it.





	New Years?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back in the fic writing game!
> 
> This is part one of a series i'm in the process of writing. 
> 
> I really really love reading comments so don't be shy!

Hope’s Peak Academy is the cradle of the worlds finest students, fostering the most talented men and women in the world. It has its own science division- the best in the world, in fact.

Many students come back after graduation to teach in the systems to carry on the cycle of talent. A prestiged academy, an incredible source of hope. Years of research, experimentation, testing- the blood, sweat, and tears of truly talented individuals all culminating in the man that sits across from him.

Nagito sits at the opposite end of the long table, his eyes trained straight ahead, utterly unrelaxed.

There were others in the room, they were talking, but it was only dull nonsense compared to the marvel sitting in front of him.

Kamukura was supposedly human. Rationally thinking, of course he is, but Nagitos never quite seen anyone like him. Everything about him was unnerving, inhuman- Captivating.

His red eyes were what Nagito was bewitched by. He watched as Izuru looked around at the different people talking to him.  
Nonsense words that didn’t matter.

Izurus eyes darted and snap to the target as soon as he hears them start speaking. He nods sometimes, blinks rarely. He never reaches to brush the hair out of his face. Nagito wishes he could get a closer look at him, but kicks himself for thinking that he has the right. It’s enough that they’re in the same room. Breathing the same air.

Izurus gaze drifts down and stares idly at the table.

_A demon_ , he thinks, _Kamukura is a demon._

_He’s beautiful._

Brilliant red eyes dart up and stare back at him.

Nagito feels an ice cold pang shoot into his chest.

_He’s looking at me._

**POP !**

A party popper shot confetti across the table. It broke their eye contact, subsequently pulling Nagito out of his trance.

“Happy new year!” Junko cheered, throwing the popper up in the air.

Mukuro pulled out the cork in the champagne. The fizz splashed on the table, he imagined that would ruin the tablecloth. Mikan clapped her hands and cheered quietly.  
Mukuro filled Nagito's glass. Junko looked at him expectantly. He was never really one for alcohol.

Then again, he was never really one for mass genocide.

He sipped on it, and Junko smiled happily.

“Here’s to the start of our first year of despair!” Junko held up her glass at the center of the table.

Mikan and Mukuro held theirs too, and Nagito leaned to clink their glasses together. He looked to Izuru to see if he would hold his glass too, but Izuru was still sitting down.

And he was still staring at him.

Nagito eased back down and rested the glass on his lips, trying to pay attention to Junko and Mikans conversation. (Just to avoid Izurus gaze.)

“Whaddaya think of the hotel?” Junko asked between sips, “I didn’t even have to pay for a reservation!”

“Ah," Mukuro stammered, "that’s because the manager is dead, Junko. You killed him.”

Junko scoffed.

“That’s the joke, Muk. God, your sense of humor is shit.”

The town is empty except for a few citizens who holed up in their houses. Mukuro managed to get the power working in the hotel. They were sitting in the banquet room, reservation only. Nagito looked to the clock.

12:03 AM.

Hope’s Peak was destroyed only a month or two ago.

When his classmates scattered, Junko asked him to come along on her travels. He didn’t have anyone else to turn to. He never had, really. Junko was the first person that ever asked him along to something. The first to want his company.

He owed it to her to come along, it was the least he could do to repay her. He had a front row seat for the apocalypse. Actually, no, he was more like one of the actors on the stage. He didn’t just observe the atrocities she commits, he helps her with them. To assist the rebirth of hope however he can.

And although he’s been exclusively traveling with four other people, he realizes he hasn’t gotten any closer or learned more about any of them besides Junko. Truth be told, he hasn't talked to anyone besides her either.

He stares at the clock’s hands, watching the seconds tick past.

He still feels eyes on him. His fingers twitch.

“Now,” Junko stands up, “we also have another very special thing to celebrate.” Her lipstick is slightly smudged in the center. He wants to wipe it with his thumb. The thought of being anywhere near her lips makes him gag.

“What… What is it?” Mikan drags her eyes away from Junko’s thighs.

Mukuro sprints out of the room and quickly brings back a cake. She sets it on the table in front of Izuru.

Nagito looks at the cake instead of him. He feels stupidly surprised.

Hope has a birthday, and it’s new years. 

Nagito’s smile becomes warm. Genuine. It’s been a long time.

Izuru turns to Junko for an explanation. His eyebrows furrow and nose scrunches up.

“It’s your birthday, Kamukura! Did you know?” She jingles, poking his cheek. He swiftly slaps her hand away.

He looks to the cake, eyebrows furrowed. Mukuro sets candles in it.

_He forgot his birthday?_

Nagito sets his glass down and observes.

It’s a two layer cake with white icing and strawberries lining the bottom. A cake you could buy at a grocery store.

It’s unfitting for someone like Izuru.

Mukuro starts lighting the candles.

“Nagitooo!” Junko coos.

He snaps his head up to look at her, “Yes?”

“Come up here! Don’t be a stranger! We’re one big family after all!” She waves for him to come over, “c'mon!”  
They’re gathered around the birthday boy. Junko grabs his arm and yanks him over.

His gaze wanders from the candles to staring at Izuru once again. He kicks himself for it, but he just can’t stop himself.

This is the closest he’s ever been to him. Months of traveling together, and this is the closest Nagito has ever dared to be.

The candle light illuminates Izurus face. When Junko starts singing, his eyelid twitches in annoyance.

There’s freckles dotting the bridge of Izurus nose, Nagito had never been close enough to see them before. He watches the fires reflection in Izurus eyes, flickering slightly.

_He’s beautiful._

Izuru noticed his gaze and looked straight at him. His eyebrows furrow further. Angry or interrogative, Nagitos not sure.

Nagito averts his eyes and scolds himself.

The song ends and Izuru blows out the candles in one short breath. Junko claps obnoxiously, reaching for a knife to cut the cake. Nagito flinches.  
Izuru pushes out his chair from the table, mouth pulled tight in annoyance.

“Whaaat, no cake?” Junko whines, pathetically holding up a plate. He ignores her and walks to the lobby.

“I don’t feel like having any, either." Nagito jumps at the opportunity to talk with him one on one. He doesn't even think twice, "I’m not really a sweets kind of guy.” Nagito smiles apologetically, excusing himself.

“Men are total fuckin' buzzkills!” He hears her whine as he leaves.

The air was suffocating but he wasn’t sure why, this hotel was too big to be so empty. Too quiet, too. He could hear the chandelier's crystals clinking above him.

He walks out the revolving door at the entrance, hands freezing from pushing the glass. His breath starts showing as soon as he steps outside under the large awning. The street lights reflect the snow drifting down.

He takes a deep breath, cold air burning the back of his throat, but he’d take this rather than the suffocation inside. The jacket isn't quite thick enough to be proper covering but it’s bearable. He hugged himself to make it a little better.

A figure stands under the edge of the awning. Nagito walks towards him.

“Hey,” he swallows, the air chilling his throat, “are you alright?”

Izuru stands straight with crossed arms. His cheeks are faintly pink. He says nothing as he watches the snowfall.

“I said are y-”

“I heard you the first time. Don’t repeat yourself.” Izuru doesn't look away from the snowflakes.

“Then why didn’t you answer?”

Izurus eyebrows twitch, “Because I didn’t want to put effort into answering a boring question.”

“It was boring?”

“You only said it to start a conversation.”

“You don’t know that, I could be genuinely worried about you.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

He was right. Nagito truly wished he knew more about him. He could only observe him from a distance.

“I’d like to.” He turned to Izuru. He has no right to talk to him, he knew that much.

Izuru rolled his eyes. They stood together in silence.

Nagito watched snowflakes fall into his perfect pitch black hair.

“Did you forget it was your birthday? Or did you not want to celebrate it.”

No response. A pang of embarrassment shoots through his head.

“Do you know how old you are?” He’s desperate for his attention. It makes his stomach turn. Nonetheless, he maintains his plastic smile.

He didn’t answer. Instead, Izuru softly blew out, looking at his breath in the air. It swirled around his mouth before traveling up into the sky. He exhaled again but deeper this time, and a bigger cloud formed and rose up.

It reminded Nagito of a child's first time in the snow.

Izuru became visibly bored of watching his own breath. His eyes became half lidded once again, letting out smaller and smaller breaths before stopping all together.

“Have you never been in snow before…?”

Izuru paused in thought, “I’ve seen it before.”

“But never played in it before?”

Izuru turns to look at Nagito as if he just asked a very stupid question. He supposes he did. But he doesn’t want to stop talking- even though he knows he should. He shouldn’t clutter Izurus mind. Shouldn’t dirty his space. He knows it’s deplorable, but he can’t stop himself.

He regrets coming outside all at once. It’s silly to try and fool himself that Izuru would ever want to spend time with him. He’s not even sure why he wants his time as much as he does. The entire time they’ve been travelling together he’s learned nothing about him- and he doesn’t want to watch from a distance anymore.  
If he could offer Izuru a new experience, one even as simple as this, he could probably die happy.

Against his better judgement, Nagito decides to waste Izurus time.

There was a park across the street, a small one. It had a playground that somewhat resembled a castle. He crosses the street and gestures for the other to follow.  
Nagito looks around for stray bottles, and spots some beer cans on the nearby curb. Good enough. He looks up and down the empty street. Cars were parked along the road, many of which were crooked, some even had their doors wide open. It looked like the people abandoned their vehicles.

He steps off the concrete onto the snow. Izuru stops in the street and stares at the moon before continuing.

Nagito balances two cans on the monkey bars.

A memory flashes in his mind of when he was a child, playing in the snow. One of his maids had set up bottles in the branches of a tree in the garden. She caught them when he knocked them off the branches. He’d watched her struggle to climb up the tree to set them up again. He giggled when she slipped.

But that is a time long past.

Nagito reached up and sets another can on the top of a support pole.

Truth be told, he can’t remember the last time he played in the snow. Maybe at Hope’s Peak, but he can hardly remember now.

He sets another on top of a swirling slide, on a rock wall, on the support beam. He finds a bottle in the snow and sets it atop a seesaw.

He leaned down and picked up snow with his bare hands, rolling it into a ball.

“This looks painfully dull.” Izuru rolls his eyes.

“You don’t have anything better to do,” Nagito turns to him, it was dark but the moon reflected off the snow-draped trees, “You might find it fun. But you don’t have to listen to mere livestock like me, so I understand if you want to go back inside.”

Izuru stood still for some moments. Nagito felt almost as if he was reeling in a fish- but the idea immediately disgusted him. Izuru should turn around and ignore burning trash like him.

Izuru stepped closer to him and outstretched his hand for the snowball. His red eyes glowed faintly in the dark. Pretty.

“How many are there?” He asked.

Nagito placed the snow in his hand and turned to the playground, index finger pressed to his chin in thought, “Seven.”

He watched as the other boy slinked around the structure, the tips of his hair dragging through the snow. His eyes darted around the structure before snapping in place on one of the cans.

Nagito followed his gaze, but at this angle it was too dark to truly see what he was looking at. It was probably the one on top of the support pole. His eyesight is truly impressive.

Izuru reels his arm back and throws the ball like a pitcher. The motion was effortless, completely fluid. The sound of the can crushing and falling back was loud and unmistakable.

Nagito clapped his hands, “Well done! I expected nothing less from you, Kamukura.”

Izuru sighed through his nose.

They both took turns until all of the targets were knocked over. Nagito took a small sense of pride that Izuru didn’t quit after one- but he knows that it’s only because he has nothing better to do.

Izuru looked at the ground idly.

Nagito searched his brain for other things to do. He was drawing a blank. It feels like it was so long ago since he just relaxed and did something fun.

Nothing he can think of is something Izuru would actually enjoy.

He could just go back inside. It’s much warmer there.

Although, Junko would be waiting for him. She’s probably drunk as hell, and she gets too handsy for his tastes. She’s already bad enough with a proper state of mind. He opts to wait longer, to go inside only if he has to. He hates himself for being selfish.

“Do you know what a snow angel is?”

“I don’t want to get snow in my hair.”

“Is it uncomfortable?”

“Very.”

If lying in the snow hurt his head, does that mean he could experience a brain freeze? What other sensations he could feel? Pain? He’d never seen him hurt before. 

_Could Izuru feel pleasure?_

His thoughts were cut short by a snowball to the face.

“Ah…” Nagito wiped the snow off his face, “Why did you do that?”

“To see if you had any other expressions.”

Nagito furrowed his brow in confusion, “Come again?”

“You’ve been wearing the same plastic smile this entire time. Your eyes look hollow. You look like a doll.”

_A doll?_

“I’m sorry?” He said, unsure if he should apologize for being samey or not, “Did you get what you wanted?”

“Hardly.” Izuru muttered, watching the snow fall onto his hands.

Nagito held his fingers up to his face and felt the curve of his mouth. He hadn’t realized he’d been smiling all this time.

_I’ve been smiling so much that I can’t even feel it..?_

His mouth uncurled and his cheek muscles thanked him for it. He can’t remember when he started smiling. It’s not like he has any reason _not_ to smile.

This is the happiest he’s been in his entire life. He’s helping orchestrate the biggest despair in human history. He’s hope’s stepping stone- a martyr. Everything he’s ever wanted.  
Nagito walks toward a nearby tree, fiddling with his fingers.

And he's not even lonely anymore. He’s not alone. He has one person to give him more love than he ever thought he’d deserve. He feels so grateful to receive it- an awful love that he _deserves._

He leans his body against the trunk.

But he _hates_ her.

He closes his eyes, taking in the sound of his surroundings. It’s quiet. He can’t even hear birds or bugs, and certainly not Izuru. His presence is undetectable.

**Crack**

_What was that?_

It sounded like glass breaking. He looked up and saw an icicle falling toward him. He flinched his eyes shut on impulse. He expected it to fall on him on account of his shitty reflexes, but it didn’t.

A few tense moments passed.

He opened his eyes. A large icicle was inches away from the bridge of his nose. He inhaled deeply at the sight.

Izuru was holding it from falling on face. He was looking down at Nagito, scanning his expression.

“Thank… you.”

Izuru looked annoyed at his response, throwing the icicle into the ground and walking back across the street.

Nagito couldn’t even feel disappointed.

Nagito had watched Izuru stand idle while men were burning alive, mothers crushed under cars, people on their way to deaths door, and he hadn’t graced any of them with any more than a glance. And yet, he saved him.

It wouldn’t have been a fatal injury- well, probably not, anyway. (Could never tell with his luck.)

What makes him more special than the common person? Certainly he was worth far less.

A hot blush crept across his face.

Nagito sat in the snow, staring at the leaving figure. More snow had fallen into his hair, and the moonlight made them glint. It swayed gracefully with every step.

A pitch black figure on a white landscape.

Izuru turned his head to look behind him, his eyes snapping to lock with Nagito’s.

A chill colder than the snow shoots into his chest.


End file.
